


like a song on repeat, nothing has to end

by catmanu



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Car Sex, Inspired by Music, Liverpool F.C., M/M, Movren is hard y'all..., Transfer Window, de facto breakups, obligatory rockfilius mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:15:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27183685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catmanu/pseuds/catmanu
Summary: All these years of figuring it out and...for nothing.  For the memories, and for the present, for their playlists sucking up their moans and cries and curses and the dull red glow of the taillights reflecting off the wall making his car look like someplace forbidden and the breath, the sweat, the endurance of two top athletes fogging the windows till his car is a secret world that nobody can see but them.  That isn’t nothing.  But it ends in euros exchanged and a contract signed and a one-way plane ticket anyway.It’s brutal, this sport that he loves.  It hurts.
Relationships: Dejan Lovren/Mohamed Salah
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	like a song on repeat, nothing has to end

**Author's Note:**

> I think I started this in the beginning of August. Movren is hard!
> 
> [Here is the song they're listening to in the car.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Dfru5fzcY8&ab_channel=MUSICVIBES) Recommended Listening (tm). 
> 
> [Here's a little Instagram story video of them actually listening to it in the car together!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TcCXU7xUWvs&ab_channel=AlhaithamIbrahim) I miss them.

“I thought you said you were driving me home, brate.”

“Well, this is home, brate.Isn’t it?”

The garage door closing takes away those last few inches between them and the world and Dejan turns off his car just partially, leaving the lights on and his Bosnian hip-hop playlist still going.

He and Mo turn to face each other.Mo’s all smiles as usual but he has an honest face, he does, and Dejan can tell from his eyes that part of his mind is somewhere else.Dejan thinks he knows where.

But they lean toward each other anyway and the unnatural distance between them is gone, fucking finally.Mo makes tight fists in Dejan’s sweatshirt and pulls them as close as they should always be, and Dejan moans into his mouth when their lips meet.Every time they do this, it’s better than how he remembers.He slides his palm up into Mo’s hair, which is still wet from his shower after playing Burnley.

He loves how Mo’s curls feel wrapped around his fingers when they’re still damp. When it’s rained during the night and you go outside and the grass is bright and fresh and clean with drops of water still everywhere?That’s how it feels. 

Dejan slips his hand down to palm Mo through his soft joggers; he’s already half-hard under there, probably has been since his lips first touched Dejan’s.See, that’s the thing.Beneath the big smile and humility and the generosity in his hometown there’s the man who laughs in anger when he misses a chance.The man who likes to get what he wants and will keep trying till it happens.So Dejan gives him what he wants, running his fingers up the bulge in Mo’s pants and squeezing as he goes, getting a low moan into his mouth in response. 

The song that’s playing right now reminds him of home, of the national team, of certain feelings for certain people there…You can always love people wherever they are, Dejan thinks.And wherever _you_ are.

“What’s the time difference?”Mo reads his mind even with Dejan’s hand working at him, getting him harder quickly.

“Between where?”

“You aren’t stupid, Dejan, where do you think I’m talking about?”

 _Between here and St. Petersburg._ “Two hours.”

“Two hours,” Mo says, his nose brushing Dejan’s nose, his beard rubbing at Dejan’s lips for kisses that Dejan is always happy to give.“Farther than Egypt, that’s just one hour.”

“Croatia too, it’s just one hour.So two hours isn’t so bad, to be honest.You know?”

“Hmm, I don’t think you get to tell me how to feel, brate.”

Dejan closes his mouth over Mo’s again and slips his tongue between Mo’s lips, making sure he can’t say anything else like that. Their tongues meet and explore, and just a few seconds of this makes Dejan rock hard. Mo doesn’t have a shy tongue, that’s for sure. Maybe it’s because no one can see what it does to Dejan’s.

“Get in the back,” Dejan says at last, reaching around to give Mo’s ass a squeeze.He raises his eyebrows at him as he does, remembering the last thing Mo had said to him. “You know I get to tell you _what to_ _do_.”

They wiggle into the backseat of the car, getting tangled up in each other, Mo giggling a little like he’s about to get in trouble at school for something that was worth it.They _could_ just get out and get back there like normal people, but it’s way more fun to be fucking stupid about it. 

Dejan leans back against the smooth leather seat and extends his arms, his wings, as far as he can, ready for Mo to climb into them and never leave. Mo straddles his lap, fully hard now or close to it, but he leans backwards, feeling around behind him in the front seat.His shirt rides up and Dejan takes advantage of it, creeping his palm onto those abs that he, Dejan Lovren, is able to touch _almost_ whenever he wants to, and running his fingers through the little dips in between them.Mo’s strong little body shivers underneath his hand.He grabs Dejan’s phone from the front seat and holds it in front of his face to unlock it; once that’s done he messes with Spotify until a song comes on that Dejan’s heard before.Mo sings along to it in the car sometimes, quietly. 

He rubs his cheek against Mo’s beard.Whose hair has the right to be this fucking soft, anyway?This isn’t how _his_ feels.“What’s this one called?” he asks.He kisses the softness.

“Hadded.”

“Hadded.Amr Diab again?”

“Mmmmm.”

“Hadded.What’s it mean?”

Mo twists his neck sharply, pulling away from Dejan, and brings their lips together again.He holds Dejan’s head to kiss him, and Dejan slides his arms under Mo’s armpits and squeezes them tightly together, perfect chest to perfect chest. Each of them is holding them together in a different way and he likes that, that they’re never touching in just one spot when they’re alone like this.

Mo’s heart pounds away against Dejan’s, and Dejan spreads his legs wide, wide like wings, the way he likes to think of his arms. He can hold anyone he wants, he can keep them, they are his. Mo doesn’t do anything.“Do I need to mail you an invitation or what?Rub your dick on my leg, come on, Mo.I like feeling you do that.”

“No, I want—something else.”

“Oh. You do? What is it?” Of course, Dejan knows what it is.He gets a little evil pleasure out of trying to make Mo say it, he has to admit.Nobody’s perfect, not even him.

“I want...I want you to...” Dejan waits to see if Mo will be able to say _suck my dick._

“To.” He pulls on his curls and squirms a little. “You know. Put it in your mouth.”

“Put what in? Put what in, Mo? Your elbow? Your foot? Want me to put your foot in my mouth, brate?You’re a freak Mo, you’re a freak.”As if, on certain nights, he hadn’t kissed Mo’s miraculous feet over and over and over.

“Dej, please…come on.”

“ _Come on_.Because I am being a pain in your sweet ass, brate?Or because you want me so bad you can’t stand it?”

“Oh, fuck you, Dej,” Mo says, something kind of evil in his eyes and his smile a little sneaky.Mo doesn’t say that to him too often.It’s exciting.They both think it’s exciting.He reaches for the door.“I am leaving, goodnight.”

Dejan grabs him and drags the waistband of his joggers down, and then his underwear.Mo’s dick springs out from where it’s been trapped underneath and Dejan grabs it like he’s afraid it’ll get away if he doesn’t.He’s almost fully hard now and a little warm and sweaty and fuck, he’s just beautiful, he’s just beautiful. 

_I wish he could come with me. I shouldn’t have to give this up.I deserve him._

“Take your shirt off,” he commands, and he follows his own advice, awkwardly wiggling out of his own pants too. He takes Mo down his throat without wasting another minute, though he has to watch himself a little, because Mo’s good at everything _except_ lasting a long time. 

Mo must have put the song on repeat because here it is again.It’s slow but there’s a lot of feeling in the way the guy is singing. It must mean something to Mo, because he’s singing along softly as his fingers start curling into the soft leather seats underneath him.The perfect smell and taste of Mo, the shadows his fingers make as they tap against the leather, the way his mouth is clearly tripping over the Arabic —Dejan can tell he’s not singing it right even though he can’t understand one fucking word—it’s all so much already that he feels like he’s in another world.Like he’s drank too much and only just realized he’s feeling it. 

Mo has his feet propped up on the seat and when Dejan next looks up he sees that his beautiful eyes are open a little bit, just enough for Dejan to see them through his long eyelashes. 

“Hey there,” Dejan says.“What a nice surprise, I don’t usually see those eyes when I’m doing this to you.”

“Well, I want to remember this.”

Dejan sucks him all the way back into his mouth, so warm, so perfect, and then pulls away again, letting a string of spit form between his lips and Mo’s dick. He makes Mo look at it, this graphic sight, this proof of how much Dejan enjoys him. He hopes Mo will think about it over and over again once he’s gone.

If Mo’s blushing, Dejan can’t tell, because of the way the shadowy red light in the garage spills over his face. He lays his palms on Dejan’s cheekbones.

“Pretty,” he whispers. “So pretty, Dej.”

And he wiggles forward, working his way farther into Dejan’s throat.He sighs as he does. He’s shaky. _Oh, he wants_. _He fucking wants it bad_.Dejan doesn’t dare touch himself, hard as he is, making a little mess of his Rock Filius boxer briefs already.He won’t last if he does, and he’ll hate himself for it. He pushes his underwear down around his knees, ready to be ready.

Dejan circles his tongue over and over Mo’s tip—fascinated, always, by the shape of it, and he puts his hands to work now, tracing over those thighs, trying to be gentle, dancing his fingers up to Mo’s balls, trying to be gentle—

Mo gives him a shove.It’s a surprise; Dejan’s head jerks back and drool drips down his chin. He wipes it off with his wrist.He knows what this means, though.“Wanna be fucked, brate?”

“Yeah, Dej, get it already.”

Dejan turns around and takes a minute to thank God, as he likes to do at these times, for giving him such long arms.It’s not hard to reach into the front seat into his glove compartment and pull out the tiny bottle of lube; he doesn’t even have to move too much.His whole garage is red, Liverpool red, from his taillights; the light from the window leaves shadowy red streaks across his tanned skin as he finds the little bottle hidden inside a spare Rock Filius beanie.Mo’s got his hands on Dejan’s ass the whole time, squeezing it gently like he’s trying to memorize it.Like a bear saving food for winter, or whatever they do, except it’s Mo trying to remember what his ass feels like before he goes off to—

“Maybe stay like this,” Mo says.He’s got a finger tracing across Dejan’s balls and then down around the base of his dick.Mo’s always so interested in his body that it feels like their first time over and over again, even now with Russia getting closer and closer.“This is very nice.”

“Me with my ass in the air?I feel fucking stupid.”

Mo wraps his hand around Dejan’s dick and pumps it a couple times, confidently, like he’s getting ready to take an easy penalty.Dejan hums and his body sparks and he rocks into Mo’s fist.It’s fucking exciting to be not just someone’s first, but someone’s _only._ Maybe he’ll be Mo’s only man _ever,_ no matter where he goes.That makes him feel a lot of things, and they’re all good.

“Well, that’s your problem, you need to fix your self-confidence. I like touching you this way.”

“My self-confidence.My self-confidence?Me, Dejan Lovren?”

“Oh, I had forgotten your name, thank you.”Mo’s hand twists so expertly on the tip of his dick, being just as rough with Dejan as Dejan had trained him to be, because Mo knew nothing back then, nothing— “ _Is this, Mo, should we be doing this?”“No—but—do it, Dej, please”_ —And Dejan lets himself be touched.Soon he won’t be able to be touched like this, by someone who knows him so well.Might as well enjoy it.

The song plays and plays.Dejan feels like he’s swimming in the sound of it; it’s flooding his car.Mo hums.He can’t carry a tune, or however they say it, for shit.He pulls back and leans against the seat again, his legs spread out, breathing, relaxing himself, getting ready for Dejan’s fingers.

Dejan knows he can’t get away with using spit to lube them up, not with Mo, it’s never even seemed worth trying.He’s tried to find the fun in getting him ready, making it a game that he’ll always win, but tonight he just doesn’t want to fucking wait.He wants to be inside Mo now, _right now, forever_.

He squirts out some lube.“Can you take two, brate?”

“Huh?”

“I think you can take two.”He slides two fingers into Mo at once—Mo yelps but he’s looser, more relaxed than Dejan had expected—and puts them to work, squeezing them together and stretching them apart, pressing hard against Mo’s prostate, rubbing it without any mercy. _Come on, brate,_ he thinks. _Be ready_.Mo is moaning and grabbing at nothing, sensitive as always.Streaks of red light slash across his abs.Dejan can’t wait any longer.He sits down on the seat next to Mo and slaps his thighs.

“Come on, Mo.Sit on my dick.”Dejan helps him along.He takes Mo by the waist and pulls him into position, his legs straddling Dejan’s hips, his plump ass brushing Dejan’s tip.Dejan feels the cool, slippery lube waiting for him.He nudges Mo’s cheeks apart with two fingers and wiggles in, now resting against his tense little hole, waiting.

“Too much work this way.”Mo’s voice is already wrecked.Dejan touches his face, gently—his cheeks are hot. 

“What, too much work?Too much work…Mr. zero percent body fat, all abs.You can do it like this.”He pushes up, and Mo lets out a puff of air and bites his lip as he sinks down onto Dejan.His eyes flutter closed and he rocks forward and his chin digs into Dejan’s shoulder.Dejan feels him adjusting, squeezing around his dick, stretching, stretching—

He’s bottomed out so he wraps his hands firmly around Mo’s hipbones and lifts him so he can thrust in and out hard, fast.Brutally, almost, because fuck being gentle. Mo doesn’t like it like that, anyway, he’s just too embarrassed to say he wants it hard and fast and hurting.Dejan knows.He knows.He feels Mo relax around him with each thrust, and there are the little noises he’s come to expect—sharp, punched-out moans, like Mo's breath is being pounded out of him over and over again.He moves his hands a little so he can feel his dick splitting Mo apart. _Fuck._

“Lazy, huh, brate?That’s not how you should treat the world’s best defender.”Dejan lets go of Mo and gives his balls a squeeze, shivering a little when he feels the hair there tickle his hand.He ignores his arching, leaking dick.“You are supposed to be doing the work.Anyway, you’re younger than me, you have more energy, to be honest.”

“Fuck y—”Dejan holds Mo’s jaw shut before he can say it again.Mo’s eyes crinkle at him; Dejan can feel him smile underneath his hand.And he lifts himself up, beginning to ride Dejan and throwing his whole body into it.His hips circle, his hands reach out to grab Dejan’s shoulders, his tongue pokes out of his mouth in concentration.Dejan’s head falls back.He grabs for Mo’s abs—his chest—his hard little nipples—his solid biceps—and looking out his windshield where the lights shine white and not red, he thinks he might see heaven.

“Fuck, Mo, fuck—the way you feel, I—”

“How, Dej?”

“Huh?” 

“How do I feel…”

Dejan can’t think of details. “Like my Mo,” he says, stupidly.“Like my good Mo.Mine.”

Mo’s in top form, now—when isn’t he?—riding Dejan’s dick as brutally as Dejan had fucked him earlier.His eyes are closed; he’s whimpering and mouthing words with no sound.Dejan feels his car shaking from the music and the force of his Egyptian and he’s twitching hard inside Mo and the feeling is heavenly.Is there another word?No, that’s the word.

By now Mo recognizes when he’s close.“Dej—you have to pull out—” he whispers.Dejan repeats it in his head. If there’s no way for Mo to shower, they can’t make too much of a mess. The things they’ve had to do and figure out to make this work. Because Dej wanted it to work more than he’d ever wanted anything to work, ever. In his entire fucking life. And so did Mo.

He’s so close, brainlessly moaning Mo’s name in his ear, but he won’t forget what to do because it’s just a part of him by now, _pull out and aim, pull out and aim_ —

And he does, slipping out of Mo and pointing his dick at his own chest just in time.He pumps it a couple of times—his hand getting slick from lube and warm from Mo’s heat, and then comes all over his chest.His other hand grabs Mo’s arm so hard it might bruise later, and the noises he’s making—somewhere underneath them he hears Mo praising _him_. _Yes, Dej, yes.You are beautiful too._

He brings himself back from wherever his mind’s gone off to; Mo whines on his lap, impatient.He brushes his thumb across Mo’s slippery hole; it’s so relaxed and open for Dejan now that he slips in three fingers at once, and Mo grunts and shudders and curses over a silent moment in the music.

“Greedy,” Dejan says.“You want my whole hand in there next or what?”He thinks Mo shakes his head, but he’s already moving on, putting his free hand on Mo’s sweaty lower back and pushing him forward a little bit.“Rub on me, I want to see you come with no hands.”

“You always do, you always see that,” Mo says, his voice strained as he does what Dejan tells him like he always winds up doing no matter what. 

“Take a compliment, brate, yeah?If I didn’t like what I saw I wouldn’t ask for it again.”Even with his stomach covered in sweat Dejan can feel Mo’s strained dick leaving little wet streaks across his skin.“Oh, I feel that.My hungry boy wants to come for Dej?You are so mine that you don’t even need me to touch you?”

“Dej, please, I—I love you but _shut up_ —”

His Mo definitely said that on purpose to get Dejan to slap him in the face, and Dejan does it lightly but enough so that it’ll sting a little, and Mo’s dick twitches against his stomach. 

“Enough now, you are being bad and getting full of yourself, yeah?I want you to come for me now.”Dejan hears the song start over yet again, but distantly; his mind is only thinking about the sweating, moaning wonder in his lap.“Come on, Mo, best in the world, come for me—come for me, my good boy—”

He counts the number of hot little spurts on his stomach and then stops counting and listens to Mo’s little whines instead.He feels the way Mo’s body always shakes and twitches—so hard, no matter what— “ _Do you come like this when you do it to yourself?” “No, I don’t” —_ and holds him close.Keeps him down.Keeps him.

“I love you, Mo,” Dejan says.“I love you.”He buries his face in Mo’s hair and kisses his head so many times he feels like he’s going crazy.“I love you, I love you, I love you.”The song starts again, or at least, he thinks it does.He can’t tell anymore.Mo’s still shaking, sweat keeping him stuck to Dejan’s chest, and he mumbles something Dejan can’t catch.“Mo, you are a miracle, you are so beautiful.You came right from God, a present for me—”

“Don’t say that—”

“I already miss you—”Dejan swallows.He hadn’t meant for this to slip out.But it’s true.

All these years of figuring it out and...for nothing.For the memories, and for the present, for their playlists sucking up their moans and cries and curses and the dull red glow of the taillights reflecting off the wall making his car look like someplace forbidden and the breath, the sweat, the endurance of two top athletes fogging the windows till his car is a secret world that nobody can see but them.That isn’t nothing.But it ends in euros exchanged and a contract signed and a one-way plane ticket anyway.

It’s brutal, this sport that he loves.It hurts.

He sighs and shakes the moment off and wipes two loads of come off his abs with his shirt.He’ll just walk into his sleeping house shirtless, there’s no problem with that. 

“Hey, Mo.Maybe let’s put on another song.I feel like I’m fluent in Arabic by now from how many times I’ve heard it.”

“Two hours,” Mo says, his little breaths so warm on Dejan’s shoulders.

“What are you talking about, brate?”

“You already forgot?Between here and St. Petersburg, you said it was two hours.”

“No, I didn’t _forget_.I—It’s still a few weeks, brate.”Mo is pulling his shirt back over his head.Dejan loves watching this, to catch the moment when his curls get stuck in the collar before he tugs it all the way down.“Did you hear me, hello?It’s still a few weeks.”

“Yes, I heard.”

“Let’s talk about something else, you know?”Dejan grabs Mo’s curls and pulls them together for a kiss.Mo must not be too mad.The way he opens his mouth for Dejan makes Dejan’s blood feel hot all over again.“God, brate.Fuck.I could kiss you till I die.I _will_ , I swear.”

“That is _very_ dramatic,” Mo says, twisting all kinds of weird ways to get his pants back on. 

“Dramatic.Dramatic!It’s true.Hey.Can you tell me what this song means?”

Mo’s ready to go, now; it’s time for him to get into the Mercedes he’s left parked in Dejan’s driveway and drive back home to his wife and daughters.Mo is good, he manages to be a good husband, doesn’t he?But he stops before he opens the door.

“Look it up Dej,” he says, and then he goes.

Fuck, Mo’s the only person—the _only_ person—who can make him feel weird like this.Like Mo’s thinking something about Dejan that Dejan isn’t allowed to know.He pauses the song and turns his car off fully and picks up his sticky shirt to take it into the house.

It’s dark and silent in his garage now, and it’s cold, too cold.His house is the same, though.He wishes they’d had an away game so he could wake up to Mo’s smile and his adorable morning meditations.So he could hold him all night, the little Egyptian king, and never be cold again.

He tosses his shirt into the laundry and texts Mo _Tell me that you got home safe, brate_ before heading into the guest room.On a night like this that’s where he’ll sleep.He couldn’t sleep anywhere else.Not because of the guilt, no.He feels almost none of that.It’s just the _pretending_ that makes him the kind of tired that keeps him awake. 

Mo texts him. _You are very needy brate ;)_ He’s home. 

That reminds Dejan.He searches for Hadded on his phone, standing right there at the foot of the guest bed in his underwear.He finds a site that says it has an English translation.He opens it up.

_Threaten to leave, fine—_

_I’ll leave—_

_and I won’t be in touch with you—_

A shiver runs through Dejan and he flings his phone onto the dresser. He has no interest in reading the rest. 


End file.
